Integer
by Okobo-chan
Summary: A collection of one shot drabbles, currently featuring Ch.7, "A Reason" GaaSaku: Because she is his lodestone, and if she remains, everything in the world is still right. The collection includes a mix of pairings, marked by chapter.
1. Her Skin GaaSaku

Title: Her Skin  
Pairing: Gaara/Sakura  
Rating: T (mild smut)  
Summary: "There was something terribly odd about the feelings created by the friction of his skin against hers."  
Disclaimer: Naruto doesn't belong to me!

**Her Skin**

There was something terribly odd about the feelings created by the friction of his skin against hers. His own skin had been sandblasted, weathered down by years of exposure to the wind and sand of his homeland. Though he retained his fair complexion, the sun had toughed his skin to the point where it caught against her smoothness, scratching lightly as he stroked her bare stomach. She was asleep, curled against him and the night as he lost himself to nostalgia.

It had been one of the first things he noticed upon their initial physical interaction. She'd impulsively grabbed his hand to hold while walking; her battle scarred but smooth flesh sliding against his own as their fingers locked in an all-too-intimate embrace. Hours later, sitting in his shabby, borrowed apartment, he could still feel the silk of her hand against his own. Days later, shoving one hand into his pocket in remembrance became a poor replacement. Weeks passed, and the sensation of her warmth against his aching skin became a craving he could no longer ignore.

With the same dedication that he'd utilized in his rise to Kazekage, he'd thrown himself into capturing the affections of the woman who now lay in his bed. He'd wanted her, craved her like oxygen and blood to wet the roughness of that same skin. The more he experienced of her, the more maps of lines he memorized on her own tempered flesh, the more necessary she became. And he made certain that he became as indispensable in her life as she gradually became his entire world outside the insanity and bloodshed that surrounded their working lives.

In less than a year he'd stolen her off to Suna under the guise of an official medical training exchange. Tsunade had been informed in no uncertain terms that his intentions were nothing less than want of full possession of the roseate-haired ninja. She'd been whisked away, out from under the eyes of a pathetically obtuse Uchicha who still insisted on wallowing in his brother's shadow. He had no pity for the other ninja's loss. Two years passed in succession, and he'd made her his bride.

She was his haven. The peace that he did not deserve, but coveted dearly. He was proud of her strength, though useless against his own. Relished the weakness in her that allowed the need for his protection, the sweetness of her lips and the salt of her tears. Every argument, every screaming fit of anger against the black of night. Because in the end she would be in _his_ bed, with _his _arms around her. _His_ skin would be surrounding her, inside her, in her heart and in her life.

Chakra fluttered against his fingers, and he closed pale green eyes as he exhaled against the brush of her hair. She mewed softly, shifting backwards, further into his embrace as he smiled, softly, into the night. Her skin was changing now, stretching with the heavy swell of their child within her. Ankles fattened, breasts had grown heavy, and his kunoichi mourned the sight of her feet every morning. She had never been more radiant to him. They would travel soon to Konoha for Tsunade to attend the birth, and he'd have to make sure that the skin of her feet wouldn't touch the ground throughout the distance. His kunoichi was stubborn.

It would be morning soon, and the light of the sunrise always made her glow in the amber hues. He treasured every stolen night away from his work when he was allowed to hold her quietly as she slept, waiting for the streaks of first light to transform his pale beauty into healthful rose in the early morning sun. Tracing her curves in the dim light, he waited.

---

**Author's Note:** This was inspired by my experience at Anime North of looking for doujinshi and only finding ONE BOX that wasn't yaoi. My frustration of not finding my smut translated into a drabble.

**On the title, "Integer":** integer meaning "a whole entity", referring to the compactness of a one shot drabble.

Thanks to my readers for all of your ongoing support!

-- Okobo-chan


	2. Force of Habit KakaSaku

Title: Force of Habit  
Pairing: Kakashi/Sakura  
Rating: K  
Summary: "No matter how often events seemed to tear at their team, he always seemed to end up in one person's company, with one goal in mind."

Disclaimer: Naruto doesn't belong to me!

**Force of Habit**

Covertly staring at her from the concealment of a rather well thumbed pornographic novel, the silver haired nin wondered at the circularity of life. No matter how often events seemed to tear at their team, he always seemed to end up in one person's company, with one goal in mind.

It had been a trend he'd recognized long ago, if not assimilated into his rather uniform behavior. Kakashi was nothing if not a creature of habit, and it was just another quirk to add to a long list of eclectic tendencies. That didn't stop him from internally cursing himself every time his obsessive compulsion reared its ugly head.

"You shouldn't worry so much, Sakura-chan. They'll be fine."

The words flowed from his mouth, to his disgust, as easy as any excuse for his general tardiness. Inside his head a mental depiction vaguely resembling his rule spouting youth slowly slammed its head against a wall as he blithely ignored its bellowed urgings to keep his mouth shut. As her gaze moved from blankly staring at the water that gurgled beneath the bridge they currently stood on, all internal struggling was halted as he focused intently on her face.

Eyes that had been dull slowly brightened as she gazed into his visible eye, squinted by the force of his reassuring grin. Her cheek muscles relaxed, coal smudged lines beneath her eyes smoothed. Lips that had been strained into a grimace softened into a responding, tender smile. While a black eye rapidly flitted over her as he memorized the image to later recollect, his mental list of proclivities was recategorized as once again the discarded nuance was reanalyzed and labeled as worthwhile. Despite the fact that he was probably lying through his teeth and they both knew it, in the end it was worth it. For that look. Ten years later, she was always worth it.

"I know that Kakashi, but will you be?"

Reaching up, she traced a gentle hand down the newly collected fine lines that surrounded his own sleepily sooty gaze. His list shifted, recategorizing swifter than he could trace and halt as his heart fluttered much to the incomprehension of his lagging consciousness. Shinobi-Rule-Kakashi bled copiously from his nose despite his current state of gagged unconsciousness.

Her smile widened as he habitually fumbled, frantically, for his pocketed literature.

---  
Author's Note: Oh dear god plot bunny attack. DONE. JOY.


	3. Framed KakaSaku

Title: Framed  
Pairing: Kakashi/Sakura  
Rating: T  
Summary: "After he'd choked out apologies, and she'd sobbed without weeping into his hands as they framed her face…"  
Disclaimer: Naruto doesn't belong to me!

**Framed**

It's with disgusting clarity that she remembers how much she treasured the picture to begin with. A photograph of her and Sasuke! Together! One that he'd posed for (kind of, it had been required) with permission! Years rolled by, and it had come to sickeningly embody everything that she'd despised about herself. It had been the continuing reaffirmation of why she'd needed to improve. Looking at their team photo, of Kakashi-sensei with both hands on the tops of _their_ heads, seemed to harden her resolve to train harder, move faster, _grow stronger_.

Later still, its meaning had drastically changed. It was a remembrance of happier times, days when she had a set team and before she'd become a daily visitor to the shinobi memorial. She'd smooth a hand across the new names, running a mental tally of wounds, next of kin and memorial rites. The new Hokage had done his best, but there had been casualties besides the well worn names that she knew and loved. The numbered, less talented genin that had fallen were not to be forgotten as well, observed with the same vigilance as their higher ranked comrades. And someone had to mourn for the thankless dead. It seemed fitting that it would be the one to help ease them into the next as they gasped underneath her hands. She held tightly to the memories of sun filled laughter and sweat without the taint of death.

Even further into her years it had come to represent the lonely isolation of life without a man who she'd so come to depend on. Her companion in her morning ritual of visiting the names of the dead, peer on an innumerable amount of missions, and dear friend as well as a former teacher. She would stare at his outstretched arms and wonder at the change, or had it been a constant? _He won't touch me._ There was no contact, no pat to the head (though she abhorred that particular habit), no brush of shoulders while resting. Lunches were canceled, and his eyes stared into the sky or down at the ground, as if it was painful to look her in the face. The message he had broadcast, or so she thought, rang loud and clear. So she'd pulled open her top dresser drawer, as she had so many times before, and slammed the framed photograph down into its dark depths wishing hopefully for oblivion.

So when, in the midst of an Otogakure raid, he'd randomly appeared his usual cloud of smoke, ripped off his mask and kissed her breathless before beheading some generically hideous Oto jounin for her, she'd been surprised. So surprised, that she'd gutted her next opponent, then smacked him, leaving a bloody handprint on his unnaturally pale lower face. _The man has tan-lines on his face,_ came the odd interlude of thought,_ that's not right. _He'd promptly goosed her, fully masked, and disappeared back to the area hosting the truly heavy combat. Sakura blinked, licked her lips, then demolished a full team of genin with a particularly vicious genjutsu. Kakashi obliterated an entire city block. Completely unexpected, yet so typically odd that the start of their relationship seemed positively normal upon recount.

So, after the battle, when they'd found each other amidst the rubble of the newly destroyed ANBU headquarters, after clutching breathlessly at each other until they could stand. After they'd washed the blood from their hands and moved on to memorizing curves and dimples. After he'd choked out apologies, and she'd sobbed without weeping into his hands as they framed her face, soothing the edge off of the torment of the unknown, she'd been marginally unsurprised when he'd reached over and dragged the photo out of her dresser drawer. Looking at it wasn't so bad as he pressed kisses against her shoulder, curled behind her (and hogging her pillow). Quite pleasant, actually. They had, however, promptly turned it face down later on in the evening.

-----  
**Author's Note:** Another 6am plot bunny rides again! -ride it, my insomnia- I recently bought a print, and decided it was too nice not to get a frame for. I was pretty proud of going against the whole economical, tack it into the plaster thing, then promptly realized what a pain in the butt it was to mat the damn things. I think it's crooked too. But I refuse to use a level, which would confirm the fact that I'm OCD with hanging things on my walls.

Anyways, thanks for reading! – Okobo-chan


	4. Baiting the Beast GaaSaku

Title: Baiting the Beast  
Pairing: Gaara/Sakura  
Rating: T (mild smut)  
Summary: The wedding of a Suna kunoichi brings out the devious best of two attending, with cheerfully violent results!  
Disclaimer: Naruto doesn't belong to me!

**Baiting the Beast  
**

He skidded wildly, riding the backlash of her punch as it forced his sand furiously against his body, propelling him backwards into thin air. As if that was anything new.

When his sister had gotten married to the man he'd immediately christened the bride of the occasion, much to the lament of this particular kunoichi, he'd thought at the time that there wasn't a way in hell that he'd ever be that whipped by a romantic partner. Or abused, for that matter. His sister had been well known for putting her husband to be in his place with the back of her hand, an act he'd deigned considerably detrimental to the man's masculinity.

Temari had wanted her white wedding, which was something that had come as a bit of a shock to her two brothers. It had been a picture they just couldn't fathom coming from the fan toting, punishment dealing, source of corporeal law that was their elder sister. After voicing this opinion, said law was enforced with grim satisfaction and they had bent to their demeaning work of helping to plan out the impending gala of doom. Shikamaru had forced his equally subdued brethren from Konoha to help, so at least they had suffered in good company.

Oddly enough, with all her travel between their villages, Temari had formed a strong attachment to the newly ranked pink haired jounin teammate of Uzumaki Naruto. He had supposed it was the girl's struggling rise to strength, but it had made considerably more sense after he'd learned the outcome of the few sparring matches the two had managed to arrange in their spare time. Any female who could bring his sister to a draw or defeat, and there were few, rated instantaneously as worthy of lifelong friendship in Temari's eyes.

Sakura had arrived with Shikamaru and his groomsmen from Konoha alongside another girl, a Hyuuga, who had also been recruited as a handmaid in the ceremony. Temari had two Suna girls as well, matching Shikamaru's groomsman quartet of Chouji, Naruto, his brother and himself. Sakura had immediately lain claim into the fashion aspect of the wedding preparations, leaving the flower arrangements to the meek Konoha girl, table and location accouterments up to the two Suna knowledgeable locals.

They had all exchanged the usual niceties after the Konoha groom and party had arrived, and lunched in a local restaurant. Sakura had been seated next to him, and he'd even been prompted by her commiseration with him on the outlandishness of all weddings to make small talk before the party had gotten into discussing arrangements. After, they'd amicably parted ways to their respective assignments. Later on in the day, after Sakura's conference with the bride, the two girls presented their choices for male attire. Gaara had flatly refused on the spot to even consider trying them on.

Pulling him aside, smiling brightly the entire time to mislead anyone who might have been paying attention, she blissfully informed him to shove his opinions where the sun didn't shine. That the occasion happened to be one of the most important moments in the life of a dear friend, and that she would put up with nothing and no one who would stand in the way of it's utter perfection. In turn he'd informed her, as he swirled sand dangerously close to her perfectly coiffed hair, to spend some quality time stuck to a boulder in the sun. She'd responded by laughing gaily as she called him jackass, lightly brushing a hand against his shoulder. A tingle of chakra flooded his system, and he'd been left with a lazy eye for well over an hour. Kankuro had almost wet himself laughing. Gaara, however, had _not_ been amused.

War had been declared, and they'd been covertly at each other's throats throughout the search for a particular silk needed for Temari's dress. Sakura's heel was _unlucky_ enough to catch in an unseen pothole just as she was strolling past a fresh pile of manure. Gaara's gourd _accidentally_ burst a hole from a freak piece of gravel, causing his chakra laden sand to become embarrassingly dispersed throughout the village. Sakura reached into her hip pouch to grab her wallet and encountered a kunai that she had _obviously_ secured incorrectly. The rest of the wedding party had been none the wiser to their gradually escalating animosity.

Things ran to a head at the rehearsal dinner when Sakura slipped something into his drink causing his eyes to water uncontrollably. After several of the attendees remarked on the beauty of his dedication to his sister in irritatingly comforting tones, Gaara drew the line. Using sand to bind her to her chair, unseen beneath the cloth draped table they were dining at, he requested the antidote in low tones as he made a show of being so kind as to refill her glass of wine. When she refused, sand began to fray the edge of her pricey designer gown.

Sakura snapped. Breaking free of her restraints, she'd all but thrown the antidote into his lap as she rose to escape to the bathroom, excusing herself to powder her nose. Upon return, she'd made it a point to remark to Shikamaru's newly arrived parents on how wonderful a speaker Gaara was, prompting him to make a dissertation in the honor of the happy couple. He'd been forced to comply, grit teeth and all, as Sakura gleefully brought the room to attention with a kunai against a rather ancient piece of Suna ceremonial crystal ware. They spent the rest of the dinner party staring each other down while fiddling with sharp, pointy eating utensils.

The icing on the cake had been when they were forced to stand up in the wedding together, Gaara leading Sakura in on his arm and all. Glaring shuriken at each other throughout the ceremony, the physical language was clear to both parties. You, me, outside, as soon as this is over. The words were exchanged, the groom kissed the bride, and warmly seeing the newly wed couple off on their honeymoon couldn't progress fast enough before they found themselves flying furiously at each other in an abandoned, underground training facility.

Despite her incredible strength, his speed overpowered her, and landing brutal hits quickly deteriorated into him holding her, subdued, against the carved rock floor. Sweating and panting, Sakura struggled against his sand spitting out combinations of non-obscenities that normally would have him choking back silent laughter. Face flushed, lips glistening in the artificial light, he silenced her in the manner that had dwelt in the back of his mind for days; with his mouth. Her glassy eyed, opened mouth shock had been well worth the attempted beating he'd later received for the stolen pleasure. It hadn't been so awful. She'd kissed everything better.

He'd never thought that he would enjoy being maltreated so thoroughly. Or, more aptly, giving the illusion of allowing her to do so throughout the days Sakura remained in Suna to cover Temari's absence. His council had been shocked the first day they'd seen her tease him about his clothes, slapping a playful hand against his chest. He'd sworn a secretarial-ninja had nearly passed out in shock when they'd gotten into a disturbingly normal-toned, violently-worded argument that had involved death threats and him shoving her against a wall in an alcove. But he'd already retreated in pure terror before he'd seen Gaara swoop in to press himself against Sakura in a passionate, world dissolving kiss.

So when he had told Sakura that her new pants were a size too small, it was in perfect clarity of the trouble he was getting himself into. He looked forward to every minute of making her forget his words.

---  
**Author's Note:** Done off of a Lethal-Empathy challenge that involved not using quotation marked dialogue, "cheerful violence". This is just pure crack. CRACK I TELL YOU. First off, I'm a big believer that if I ever married anyone off in the Narutoverse, it would be in a strictly Buddhist/Shinto ceremony to match the rest of the traditionalist culture in the verse. Unfortunately, that didn't suit for the purposes of this storyline. So, we are left with crack. And smut. – Okobo-chan


	5. Two for the Road KakaSaku

Title: Two for the Road  
Pairing: Kakashi/Sakura  
Rating: T (language)  
Summary: Kakashi has an interesting reaction to an antidote, and Sakura is loving every minute of it.  
Disclaimer: Naruto doesn't belong to me!

**Two for the Road**

"Sakuuuuuura..." She blinked, contemplating the probability that the sight before her was a genjutsu. Swiftly brushing the theory to the side, she settled herself in for an interesting night.

"Saaaaaakura-chan..." He grinned, head slightly tilting to the left as his eye slit further than his usual droopy gaze. Pupil slightly unfocused, he moved closer to her patch of grass, scooting his long upper torso across to touch elbows with hers. The copy-nin giggled at her upraised eyebrow. It made her look like Pakkun. Which would be even funnier, since they smelled the same, too. He giggled harder, head sliding off of his propped arm, causing him to momentarily inhale dirt onto his mask as his face hit ground. Flailing, he rocked his body from side to side until he flipped himself onto his back. Pausing, he wiggled his hips in consternation, brow wrinkled. "My feet are gone."

Lips twitching, it was all she could do to hold in her laughter. Moving to hover over him, she raised a sandaled foot into the confused mans view, shaking it slightly. "No, they're still attached, see? I promise." He blinked owlishly at the upraised limb, uncomprehending it's seeming attachment to his body. Wiggling his toes, Kakashi's eyes grew wide in realization that it _was_ his foot, and not some one else's.

Sakura could no longer hold in a muffled giggle at the comedic sight that was laid out for her viewing pleasure. If she'd known that he would have had this reaction to the type of belladonna antidote she'd been forced to administer, she would have poisoned him herself years ago. It was just too priceless. He was in the two percent of patients who had this particular reaction to the lifesaving drug, and she was enjoying every minute of it. The man had tormented her with his alcohol tolerance when she'd turned of age for liquor, drinking sake like water and had ended up toting her home over his shoulder despite the massive quantities he'd put away that night. His inadvertent inebriation was welcomed backed revenge for all the nights when she'd spilled her guts over an open tab. The sneaky bastard.

"Are you laughing at me because I look like a pirate? That's not very nice." She stuffed her fingers into her mouth to choke back waves of laughter. "I can still raid your booty." He shook his hips, legs refusing to coordinate, and she fell over into a heap, nearly in mirthful tears. It was going to be an interesting night indeed.

-----

Author's note: I turned twenty one. -checks watch- Two hours ago. Whoooo! I'm completely making up the belladonna part, which by the way, means beautiful lady in Italian (My four years of that language summed up right there. And how to order food). This was written at 2 a.m. after imbibing my first legal alcohol, so go me for being grammatically correct under the influence (bah, mixed drinks) XD

Quintessence Ch. 7 is around 2/3 done, and Ch. 8 is at around 1/20. So, keep an eye out for an update within the next couple weeks. I've been bogged down with editing work academically and otherwise. But I'm working on it! -ducks-

--Okobo-chan


	6. Imperfections KakaSaku

Title: Imperfections  
Pairing: Kakashi/Sakura  
Rating: T (content)  
Summary: "Despite all of their collective imperfections, it's exactly the way he'd dreamed it would be."  
Disclaimer: Naruto doesn't belong to me!

**Imperfections**

The first time they kiss, Kakashi clashes his teeth against hers then mistakenly bites her lip. She yelps, then giggles wildly as she cross eyed-ly heals herself with a chakra laden touch. He blushes furiously against his violently pale cheeks, and pouts until she pulls him down to kiss it all better (which should have been his job in the first place, she later points out).

When they hold hands, it's difficult to walk. His height yanks her arm up uncomfortably, and he has to walk nearly on an angle, body tilted to the side, as well as compensating his usual slouch to accommodate for her dainty palm. Occasionally they'll slip their hands apart and clench before moving back together just to get the blood flowing to their cramped digits.

They don't get married. Sakura's progenitor is furious, as expected of any doting father, when they move in together to live in sin for the years to come (deliciously so, as Kakashi quips, often). The older women of the town still anxiously await the day when they can wish the last Hatake well upon his nuptials, showering him with presents long chosen, but it never comes.

His less trained dogs leave her dead things as presents in her sandals. She goes to leave for work one morning, weeks after they had moved in together, to find a freshly mauled rabbit accompanied by a terrier with his tail going full speed. The neighbors beat the walls assuming it's Kakashi's usual morning "hello", which leads Sakura to wonder what would happen if someone really _was_ murdering her. Kakashi just smiles and explains that it means she's part of the pack.

She leaves the light on in the bathroom so that she can see the hallway at night, which drives Kakashi's inner electric conservationist insane. He itches to turn it off, but every night she sleepwalks, does her business, then proceeds to snuggle herself into him whispering her love, and then he can't move except to hold her closer. The bill is astronomically more than when he lived alone. 

Years into their relationship, she miscarries, and their baby would have been a girl. He mourns by holding her as she weeps and rails against the world, and they both console each other that nothing more could have been done than their actions taken. They make love. They move on. There are no more children, and somehow they're happier for the uncomplicated bliss of it all (though they never tell each other).

Kakashi, much to his chagrin, gets deeply indented crows feet around his eyes to match his ever whitening hair and slightly bowed spine. This causes Sakura to jokingly buy him purple face paint for a birthday, to which he growls and hogs her favorite pillow in revenge. Domestic warfare isn't pretty.

Sakura gains arthritis in her hands, which she blames on the Fifth. Kakashi pulls on his face mask when she uses the cream necessary to dull the bouts of pain after battle, until she wipes off the excess onto the patch beneath his nose, then sullenly pouts until he "makes it better". She steals the covers leaving him to shiver, naturally. 

Despite her fading hair, and aversion to his favorite novels, he thinks that she's still the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on. He tells her in every touch. And despite all of their collective imperfections, it's exactly the way he'd dreamed it would be.

-----

**Author's Note: **

I'm really working on my chapters! I swear! I can't help it that the plot fairy visits so often! Aside, I'm really almost finished. I've got a few loose ends to clean up, then revision, and it's up. Whoooo! And I'm finished editing a term paper for someone. I hate that, since half the time it's on some wild theoretical sub-specialty and I have no idea what I'm reading due to jargon. Good thing she was writing on my subject of study, so I could do more than correct grammar errors.

Thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday as well! It was a nice present! I did get an ice cream cake from a friend and some mixed drinks that were tasty called 'Alien Secretions'... interesting title, but tasty all the same. And I got to light things on fire (legally), which is always fun. Mwhahaah.


	7. A Reason GaaSaku

Title: A Reason  
Pairing: Gaara/Sakura  
Rating: M (mild smut)  
Summary: "Because she is his lodestone, and if she remains, everything in the world is still right."  
Disclaimer: Naruto doesn't belong to me!

**A Reason**

He carries her heart tightly fisted in the palm of his hand, and he realizes this. It is his talisman against the cruelty of his youth, and his reminder of all things good to come. She is strong, and supple, more like a willow than her namesake. Though she bends to the will of the wind, she does not break. But she can be damaged. He's held her against the storm, picking up the pieces of her ravaged heart to carry, but vows that he will not live to see the day where she is broken.

Because she is his lodestone, and if she remains, everything in the world is still right. She is the way, the will, and the reason. His compass and his path.

* * *

His sister had panicked, randomly emerging from the tree line and within seconds had promptly demolished the nin she had been toying with. The man would have been ideal to pump for information, and Sakura had been less than happy when the opportunity was so brashly torn from her fingers. Temari couldn't have cared less, grabbing onto the pink haired medic and flying full speed towards the area her brother had last been spotted. Even years later, after she had come to embrace the fact that her jinchuuriki bearing sibling had the ability to be beaten, and thoroughly so, the rarity of the event left her completely unprepared for the next instance. And it was occurring, to her horror, and this time under her own watch.

Even still, despite her reassurances to Temari that all would be well, that it was _Gaara_ for heavens sake, nothing could have prepared her for the situation she found herself stepping into. They had been separated into search parties for the day, and the mixed village team's current task had been information gathering. Though risky, as all missions were, it was hardly anything that should have resulted in the carnage that lay before her.

Sakura had seen the Kazekage near death. Dirtied and without breath in his lungs. But she had never seen him... for lack of a better word, _shredded_. Strips of his clothing had been torn away, and his bared torso was painted with crimson patches of half dried blood that oozed, sluggishly, from painful looking flesh wounds. His face was contorted in muted agony and fury, sand shields cracking and disintegrating off of his battered body. The entire valley floor was flooded with sand, and if there had been a body of the enemy fought, nothing was left in silent testament to the Kage's rage.

She slowly approached the feral looking man as he lay coiled beneath a half submerged tree, and he snarled as his eyes made contact with her figure, attempting to draw himself into a crouch. The fact the he'd been injured enough to bleed so severely was intensely frighting to the medic. Gulping down the terror in lodged in her throat, she shakily extended a hand to the wounded man. Who, staring her down like the wounded beast that he nearly was, growled gutturally before he reaching out with a single arm and dragged her down beside him, startling Temari who had moved to hover beside the pink haired ninja.

"Akatsuki." He hissed in response to her unspoken concern, drawing his lacerated, free hand across his knitted brow, further smearing blood across his already filthy visage. Her palm stopped in the almost unconscious action of healing his wounds, and he took the moment to rock backwards on his haunches without releasing her arm, away from her to grab at something behind him. Moments later he thrust the tattered remains of a black and red robe into her shaking hands.

Temari wept.

* * *

Few people were surprised when Sakura was assigned as a permanent emissary to the Sunagakure. The two countries had been tightly knit, as their respective demonic carriers allied against the greatest unification of S-Class criminals their world had ever seen, and she'd known her place in the matter. The Kyuubi's teammate and the savior of Ichibi could only be in the thick of it, and after the proactive search had begun for Akatsuki, Sakura had been placed as the Kazekage's team as a medic. The combined forces of Konoha and Suna ninja were taking the battle to the enemy, and teamwork within the mixed village teams came easier than one would have thought.

War had that effect on ninja, and the survivors of mass actions before the Akatsuki Task Force witnessed their trials with somber pride. But a village is still a village, despite the changing plane of battle. When the young Kazekage bore down on the Konoha gate, engulfed in sand with an unconscious rose haired medic in arm, tongues wagged. When he kept vigil on the roof of the hospital until her release, though he never visited her bedside, the rumors were unstoppable. Barely able to keep pace though stable in condition, he'd immediately dragged her back to active duty upon her release, shocking the populace with his seemingly purposeful negligence towards the object of his previous concern.

He was imperfect. Their friendship was imperfect. She didn't want perfection. Perfection was awkward. Perfection was boring. If it had been any other way, she might have given up on it, but it was the imperfection of it that kept her working so fervently to stay afloat above all that had occurred. It kept their boon a reality. They were both broken people rising above the fractures, and she understood his antipathy towards compassion as much as he did her aversion of deficiency.

* * *

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was soft, barely carrying above the whistle of April winds through the trees. The hesitance in and of itself was alarming, as she was hardly one to censor herself anymore these days. At least, around him.

"And just what is it that I'm doing?" As usual, though his own intonation was completely serious, there was the embodiment of droll humor concealed within his words. Once her teacher had said to look beneath the underneath, and generally the analysis of this particular mans actions resulted in rage, general amusement or utter disinterest. After being so in-tuned as necessary of a teammate, the unspoken emotional language was all too tangible for the woman.

"Why... are you doing _this_?" Here she gently stilled his hand by capturing it with her own, bringing it down from it's position at the back of her head, stroking the soft, downy hairs that lay at her nape. As his hands turned to capture her own, pulling them into his chest as he leaned in to rest his split lip against the plane of her shoulder. Another close call. Another step closer to the black, never to return from battle. Things left unsaid, undone. Unexperienced.

Glittering, pale green eyes held hers with an air of quiet desperation. "Because I can't not."

* * *

Like he should have, he worried. That by the nature of his nocturnal beast, he was starving her of the sunlight that she needed. She was a blossoming cherry tree, air and brightness to his craving for the black canvas against the stars. He couldn't count the number of times he'd pondered the oddity of the dissimilarity of light and dark between them. And how he worried, gazing upon familiar constellations, that he would one day taint her brightness. But somehow, he wondered with a soft smile, if it wasn't a balance of an exchange between them.

* * *

Sasuke undulated underneath him, scrabbling for purchase against the dessert floor. Lifesblood, red and wet dripped onto the sand beneath his tattered red clouded cloak. He coughed thickly. "Proving your existence again, Kage-sama?" Naruto growled behind him, spitting curses as Sasuke's cursed form thrashed in their hold. Both men looked mauled, but their captive in comparison was broken. "I thought my people had beaten that out of you." Gaara slid a kunai underneath him, slicing through tendons that would have meant walking away would be a possibility. Naruto's eyes closed in submission.

Gaara's malicious grin belied his flatly negative answer. "You threatened what is mine, Uchiha," he muttered lowly.

Sasuke's short bark of laughter was resigned. He barely grimaced as Naruto snapped both wings beyond repair, sealing his curse mark with a jutsu so immense in power that Sasuke thought his soul was being ripped from what was left of his husk. "What the fuck is he talking about, bastard." Naruto was already staggering away, face turned towards the mountains. His blond hair blended into the sun as he collapsed against a boulder, chakra spent. "Oi. Dobe," he hissed.

Sand was slithering up his spine, shuddering his resolve. His former teammate gazed into the sky. "Our last battle..," Gaara's eyes smoldered with an inhuman light he'd seen only once before. He was bathed in the blood, both his own and from the ragged corpses that surrounded him. His teeth were grit into gash that could never be called a smile. "You touched what is mine." Stepping back he tossed the kunai away. It was unnecessary.

For the first time in years Sasuke felt true fear. His mind raced, face contorting. Tomoe eyes flashed in understanding. He spat blood, "_You._" Crimson sand was rising up into the air around him, crawling over his body in waves, slipping beneath his coverings into his torn skin. "Me," Gaara's reply was gutteral. "She would _never_ have _**you**_," his tongue felt heavy. His fingertips were cold, useless. Another failed revenge. An empty district.

"She is _**my**__ mate_." A victorious snarl in two voices. Gaara's hand seals flourished with triumph.

"Monster, " hissed Sasuke. Gaara's hands paused, panting with blood lust, remembering soulless green eyes under matted pink hair.

"Yes. You are." He finished his jutsu.

Sasuke's tormented shrieks were brief.

* * *

The room was cold. She'd grown used to the permeating heat of the desert. Though most of the rooms withing Sunakagure boasted air conditioning, she liked the heat of the sun against her back from a shadeless window. It's sterility was unfamiliar as well. No matter how often she cleaned, or how thoroughly, his sand always seemed to find it's way onto the floor. Or onto the counters. She'd know he was home when the grit on the windows suddenly forced themselves open, his unconscious desire for fresh air overriding her own need for cleanliness. Their bed, however, was always conspicuously clean of debris.

It was his element. Another part of himself. When he'd arrived home, he'd been encased in it, and she welcomed that, knowing that he was protected by the form fitting layer upon layer of the desert. And when he'd opened his eyes, holding her with a pupiless gaze she'd come to desire as a woman parched for water, she'd rejoiced in the knowledge that he was _home_. They had brought him back to her.

He smelled like death. Fishing into his clothing, he tossed an emblazoned ring at her feet. She thanked every deity she could think of.

"Okaerinasai, danna," a breathy whisper.

Then he was on top of her, half gone, teeth mouthing her for sustenance. Her head tipped back as he savaged her clavicle, and she tore at his straps until he pushed her hands away and undid them himself, snarling. The floor slammed up against her back as he ripped open her robe, pressing her body into the wood as he lashed out, a hand trapping hers above her head. His breath choked against her temple as she wrapper herself around his waist, pushing breathy moans into his chest as he ground his pleasure into hers.

Panting, he shoved his wild face into hers, "Why?," he rasped. His free hand fumbled between her thighs, finding her ready. Both of them gasping as he slid home, he relinquished her aching arms as they wound into his hair. Her lips found tender purchase on his tattoo, causing his brutal rhythm to slow.

"Only for you," she sobbed. "Only you." His bride. His wife. _His. _

He worshiped his flower.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm back. This one is years in the making, but, I'm starting to write again. Sorry for the wait.

- Okobo-chan


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